


the night bird also shall rest there

by vain_flower



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Double Penetration, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Mildly Dubious Consent, Threesome - M/M/M, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vain_flower/pseuds/vain_flower
Summary: Lambert kills a succubus, and its lover, a sorceress, knows just the right way to pay him back for it.





	1. and find himself

“You’re really telling me you’ve come across a curse you can’t break on your own?” Geralt asks, watching Lambert pace the main room of Corvo Bianco.

 

Lambert’s eyes flash, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. Geralt feels a little bad poking at him like this; if Lambert’s actually asking for help, it must be bad.

 

“I can’t--” Lambert starts. He takes in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, exhaling slowly like he’s trying to calm himself down. “This curse has it to where I can’t fucking _think straight_ long enough to puzzle anything out.”

 

“Tell me what happened,” Geralt says, “I’ll do what I can to help.”

 

Lambert looks flushed and a little sweaty, not too unusual after a day’s ride in full armor, even though the mild Toussaint winter has settled in. He keeps taking shuddery breaths, still trying to compose himself, if just a little bit.

 

“I killed-- a succubus. _Don’t say it_ ,” Lambert snaps at him, suddenly.

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Geralt points out.

 

“No, but I know what you’re going to. I don’t need a lecture on how succubi aren’t inherently dangerous. This one was, okay, so you can spare me your moralizing.”

 

“Alright,” Geralt says placatingly. “I believe you. So you killed a succubus. Did the curse come before or after?”

 

“After,” Lambert says, dropping into a chair at the table. Geralt can read nervous energy in every taut line of him.

 

Lambert doesn’t stay there for long, getting up and pacing again.

 

“Just my luck,” he continues, scrubbing a hand over his face, “one of its paramours was a sorceress, and needless to say she wasn’t pleased.”

 

Geralt nods. “So she cursed you,” he guesses. “You remember the words?”

 

Lambert raises both hands, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes. Geralt isn’t sure Lambert even heard him.

 

“Lambert,” Geralt says.

 

Lambert drops his arms like he’s been burned, looking at Geralt with an expression that’s hard to place. His head is tilted down, and he watches Geralt through his eyelashes for a long moment before shaking his head, seeming to snap out of it.

 

“ _For that which you killed_ ,” Lambert says, with some difficulty. “ _To you I entrust_.”

 

Not the best start to a curse. Geralt thinks he can see where this one is going, and his stomach sinks.

 

“ _With no single soul can you slake your lust_.”

 

“Shit,” Geralt says.

 

“No fucking kidding,” Lambert replies.

 

“So you’re…” Geralt starts.

 

“Suffering the same kind of insatiable lust that drives a succubus to drain a man dry to the point of death? Yeah!”

 

Geralt has half a mind to ask if Lambert wants him to grab one of the more attractive ladies staffing Corvo Bianco, but looking at the expression on Lambert’s face, he discards it.

 

“Are you sure?” Geralt asks. He doesn’t have a problem taking men to his bed, but these are hardly ideal circumstances, and he really rather prefers it if his partners can say _no_.

 

“I’m sure,” Lambert grinds out, like it pains him to say it. “I hate to ask you, but I couldn’t think of anyone else I trusted with this.”

 

Damn. He knows exactly which buttons to push.

 

“I’d just rather you not regret this.”

 

Lambert rolls his eyes. “Save your chivalry for the ladies,” he snaps.

 

He closes his eyes and shakes his head again. He looks back up at Geralt, face a little flushed and he takes a step closer, almost like he’s not aware he’s moving.

 

“Promise you’re not gonna hate me when all’s said and done?” Geralt asks, standing his ground.

 

Lambert is close enough to touch now. “Don’t make me beg,” he says, voice losing most of its sharpness. His gaze drops to Geralt’s mouth.

 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Geralt says, and he places a hand on the back of Lambert’s neck, leans in and kisses him.

 

Lambert’s soft sound of shock is lost in Geralt’s mouth, and all the tension bleeds out of him at once. He’s crowding into Geralt’s space, kissing back with fervor. Geralt herds him towards his bedroom best he can without breaking contact.

 

They manage though, and Geralt pushes the door shut with his foot just in time for Lambert to slam him up against it, kiss gone a little savage as he tugs at Geralt’s armor.

 

“Damn, alright,” Geralt says, and though Lambert is more of a hindrance than a help, he manages to get them both to a relative state of undress.

 

As Lambert’s armor falls away, Geralt can smell the arousal coming off of him. Not that he needs it to know how much Lambert is into this, given that he's _also_ grinding his dick up against Geralt’s thigh,and his eyes snap open when Geralt gets his hands on his hips, trying to still them.

 

Lambert's pupils are narrow slits, eyebrows drawn down and a snarl forming on his mouth.

 

“Don't you dare give me shit about this,” he snaps, though his voice is thready.

 

“I'm not gonna give you shit for being under a curse,” Geralt says. “Just… calm down a little.”

 

Which definitely are _not_ the right words to say. Lambert’s eyes flash, and for a second Geralt thinks that Lambert might actually ride off in the night to find someone else.

 

So Geralt does the one thing he can think of to distract him, pushing Lambert down onto the bed and following him down, pinning him there with his weight. If Lambert were in his right mind, Geralt couldn't keep him there for long, but being decidedly not in his right mind, he groans and clutches Geralt even closer.

 

“ _Bastard_ ,” he says, biting at Geralt’s mouth, but he's rolling his hips up like he can't help it, breathing harshly.

 

Lambert gets a leg around him, heel digging into the small of his back like he thinks Geralt might try to escape.  Geralt tries to kiss him smooth and slow but Lambert’s not having it, too desperate for it.  Geralt drops a hand between them, taking both of their cocks in a firm grip.

 

Lambert turns his head, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open, lips shiny and wet from kissing.  Geralt can't say for sure, but he seems _too_ sensitive, jerking when Geralt digs a thumb into his slit and coming with a ragged groan.

 

Geralt tries to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs, but Lambert doesn’t let him budge so much as an inch.  Lambert rubs a hand over his face, expression pained.

 

“You have to fuck me,” he says, voice so low Geralt almost doesn't hear him.

 

“Alright,” Geralt says, pushing himself up to rummage through his bedside table for some oil.

 

Lambert stays where he is, cock still rock hard, fingers spasming like it's an extreme effort not to jerk himself off while Geralt watches.  Geralt slicks up his fingers and kneels over Lambert, reaching down to rub oil over his hole.

 

“Sometime _today_ ,” Lambert snarls, trying to bear down on his fingers.

 

Geralt resists the urge to roll his eyes, easing in a single finger.

 

Lambert glares at him. “Freya’s tits, give me the oil or I'll be as white haired as you by the time we’re done.”

 

Geralt pushes a second finger in, twisting them and feeling around until Lambert groans, eyes slipping shut again.

 

“ _Bastard_ ,” Lambert gripes again, without much heat in his voice.

 

“That's no way to talk to someone doing you a favor,” Geralt says, fucking him with three fingers now.

 

“You could be working harder to get me to shut up,” Lambert says, biting his lip.

 

“Hmm,” Geralt says,slipping his fingers out and coating his cock with more oil.

 

Lambert spreads his legs further, tilting his hips up so Geralt can push in smooth and easy. Lambert’s moan is loud enough that it drowns out his own.

 

“Fuuuuck,” Lambert groans. “The hell are you waiting for?”

 

“So goddamn mouthy,” Geralt chides, drawing back and plunging back in, relishing the way it seems to make Lambert forget what he was about to say.

 

He does it again and again, building up a rhythm, and finally Lambert is quiet save for the moans Geralt punches out of him on each thrust.

 

“Don't you dare fucking stop,” he finally manages, voice a ruined thing.

 

“Wasn't planning on leaving you hanging,” Geralt says, getting his hand around Lambert's cock again.

 

It doesn't take much more for Lambert to come with a cry, and Geralt thrusts a few more times into that tight clutching heat before he follows.  Geralt pulls out as gently as he can. Lambert finally seems satisfied, arm flung over his eyes and breathing heavy.

 

“I'll have a bath drawn,” Geralt says.

 

Lambert shakes his head. “Give me a minute,” he says, but a minute later he's out cold.

 

Geralt sighs. He sets about tidying them both up as much as he can with a damp rag before laying down next to Lambert and trying to catch some shuteye of his own.

 

He's not sure how long he's been out when he feels the bed shift and a hand wrap around his cock.

 

“Again?” Geralt asks groggily.

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Lambert hisses, working him to full hardness. “What’d you do with the fucking oil?”

 

Geralt reaches over to fumble for the bottle on the bedside table, passing it over to Lambert who rips the cork out with his teeth.

 

There's just enough light filtering in through the window for Geralt’s enhanced vision to pick up the expressions on Lambert’s face.

 

He looks almost angry, eyes clenched shut and brows drawn down but his _mouth_. He can see Lambert’s arm twisted behind himself as he works himself open, and his mouth has dropped open, teeth bared as he pants for breath.

 

A second later and his eyes open like he can feel Geralt watching him. They shine in the dark, pupils wide to take in what little light there is.

 

“Not gonna help?” he asks, accusing.

 

Geralt folds his arms behind his head. “You want it, you work for it.”

 

Lambert snarls, grabbing at Geralt’s cock with an oiled hand to slick him up. A second later and he's kneeling over Geralt’s midsection, holding his cock as he sinks down onto it.

 

Geralt groans, hands going to Lambert’s hips and squeezing. Lambert’s thighs shake as he seats himself fully, biting at his own knuckle to keep himself quiet.

 

He doesn't wait to start riding Geralt, dropping both hands to his chest to give himself that bit of extra leverage.  Geralt fucks up into him, but mostly he lets Lambert do all the work. With Lambert distracted, Geralt lets himself admire how he looks.

 

It's been a while since he's been with another man, and those he has lain with haven't had the muscle or the scars of a witcher. He just doesn't usually sleep with people who can keep up with him physically, and it's nice to realize that his partner’s not gonna break. No doubt Lambert can give as good as he gets.

 

Geralt’s about to get his hand on Lambert's dick, feeling a little more magnanimous, but Lambert beats him to it. He digs the nails of his free hand into Geralt's chest, grinding himself down. He's barely moving anymore, like he needs Geralt as deep as possible.

 

“Fuck,” he swears, eyes clenched shut, look on his face almost pained. He's working at his own cock like he can't get himself to come fast enough.

 

“Come on,” Geralt says, soft and encouraging, rocking his hips up.

 

Lambert shudders all over and comes, spilling over Geralt’s chest and abdomen, chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm with twitchy movements, moaning low in his throat.

 

“Fuck,” he whines, hand still working over his cock. “Fuck, oh fuck.”

 

“Got you,” Geralt says, pushing up so he can flip their positions, fucking into Lambert with a little more force.

 

Lambert bites at him, muffling his moans into Geralt’s shoulder. It’s hard to tell if he’s actually enjoying himself, or if the sensitivity of having come once already is too much for him. But he’s clinging to Geralt like he can’t bear to be parted, stroking himself with jerky movements.

 

Geralt kisses his throat, gets his hand on Lambert’s dick instead, and this time, when Lambert clenches up and comes, Geralt follows.

 

“You’re fucking heavy,” Lambert whines, pushing at him, apparently sated for the moment.

 

Geralt snorts and pulls out of him, laying back on the bed to catch his breath.

 

“You don’t have to look so fucking smug,” Lambert grumbles. He looks as irritated as he usually does, but he’s fingering himself absently.

 

“Will you relax?,” Geralt says.

 

“Don't fucking tell me to _relax_ ,” Lambert snaps back. “You think I want this?”

 

“I know you don't,” Geralt says, trying to ration his patience. “But give me something to work with here rather than trying to bite my damn balls of every time I try to help you.”

 

Lambert seems to finally realize that he’s still touching himself, and he grabs fistfuls of the blanket, glaring up at the ceiling, not saying anything. It's probably the closest to an apology that Geralt's going to get.

 

“It doesn't have to be this hard,” Geralt tries.

 

“That's what she said,” Lambert says half heartedly and Geralt snorts.

 

“Funny.” He wants to ask if Lambert is alright, if anything hurts, but he knows that Lambert won’t take that as anything but an insult. “I’m serious, though. You’re a dick, but I don’t really relish the idea of hurting you.”

 

Lambert sighs in aggravation. “I’m not some sorceress you have to romance,” he says without much ire.

 

“No reason not to make the best of a bad situation,” Geralt responds, trying to brush it off. He does want to make it good for Lambert, take some of the sting out of the curse.

 

“Worried I’m gonna tell people you’re a bad lay?” Lambert jokes.

 

“I’m an _excellent_ lay,” Geralt objects and Lambert scoffs.

 

“Your secret is safe with me, wolf.”

 

Geralt growls, biting Lambert where neck meets shoulder. Lambert hisses, but just tilts his head to give Geralt better access.

 

While Geralt marks up his throat, he rakes his nails down Lambert's front, startling a moan out of him.

 

Lambert turns his head, catches Geralt’s mouth with his own in a kiss that's more teeth than anything else.

 

He breaks away after a minute though, and looks down at himself. “Did you say something about a bath earlier?” Lambert asks.

 

“Not a bad idea,” Geralt says. “You smell like a damn brothel.”

 

Lambert levels a glare at him. “Yeah, and you smell like a bed of fucking roses. Dick.”

 

Geralt snorts and gets up. “You really know how to sweet talk a guy,” he says, wiping himself down and trying to make himself somewhat presentable before asking for some baths to be drawn.

 

“Just fortunate for me that you’re easy,” he hears Lambert grumble as he leaves the room.

 

For his part, Geralt bathes quickly, but Lambert chooses to languish in the tub. Geralt leaves him to become a prune, grateful for the brief reprieve.

 

He’s sitting at the table, eating a light lunch and reading when he hears Lambert’s voice.

 

“Geralt,” Lambert calls, voice raised so it carries through the wall.

 

“Yeah?” Geralt replies. His voice sounds long suffering even to his own ears and he winces.

 

“What's the likelihood I can get you to fuck me in the bath?”

 

Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “What's the likelihood my dick’s gonna fall off before we get this damn curse broken?”

 

Lambert snorts. “Oh, I'm _so sorry_ ,” he says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “How _hard_ it must be for you, old man. You know if you're having a hard time getting it up, there's a potion for that.”

 

Geralt suppresses a growl.

 

“How about you, aren't you… I don't know, sore or something?”

 

“Your concern is really touching. I'm fine. Might have a harder time if I were actually human, but looks like these mutations are good for something after all.”

 

“I don't think that's the use our teachers really had in mind for them,” Geralt says dryly. “But I'm glad to hear you're alright.”

 

“Probably a shitty thing to say, but I'm glad some of those old bastards are dead. I hate to think about this getting back to any of them.”

 

“Huh. Yeah, that reminds me. I heard from Eskel before you showed up, he's planning on wintering here, too.”

 

Lambert is quiet for a moment, but eventually he sighs. “Alright.”

 

“Alright?” Geralt prompts.

 

“Well, he was my second choice, but he doesn't have a sweet villa in Toussaint.”

 

“I'll tell him you said that.”

 

“Go ahead,” Lambert says. “And I was serious earlier.”

 

“About?”

 

“About fucking in the tub?” Lambert says, impatiently.

 

Geralt drags a hand down his face, glad that Lambert can't see him. This pace really isn't sustainable.

 

“Lambert,” Geralt starts.

 

“Geralt,” Lambert mimics.

 

“How opposed are you to getting Eskel involved?”

 

“I know I give you grief over being an old man, but _really_?”

 

“Serious question,” Geralt replies.

 

Lambert scoffs. “Well it's not like I've got any other option, is there?”

 

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that.  “You have options,” he says finally.

 

“Great, is one of those options getting fucked before the water gets cold?”

 

Geralt sighs, abandoning his book and heading back into the bedroom.


	2. a place of rest

“Should I find alternate arrangements?” Eskel asks as soon as he steps through the door.

 

To be fair, the whole place reeks of sex, even with the windows open.

 

Geralt sighs. “No, I might actually need your help.” Lambert has been running him ragged.

 

He explains as much, and to Eskel’s credit, he takes it in stride.

 

“I suspect you'd both do the same for me,” he says in explanation when he agrees to stay and help out. Then, thoughtfully, “What were the words of the curse?”

 

“ _ For that which you killed, to you I entrust, with no single soul can you slake your lust _ ,” Lambert says with a scowl as he comes into the dining room.  

 

He drops into a seat at the table, stiffening immediately, trying to hide a wince.

 

“You want a pillow?” Geralt asks and Lambert looks at him like he's considering murdering him in his sleep tonight.

 

How Eskel manages to keep a straight face, Geralt will never know.

 

“Hmm, it even rhymes,” Eskel says, drawing Lambert’s attention.

 

The look Lambert levels at him is decidedly unamused. “What does it matter if it rhymes or not?” he snaps.

 

Eskel shrugs, implacable in the face of Lambert’s irritation as he's always been and Geralt sends a wordless prayer of thanks to whichever gods may be listening that he doesn't have to deal with Lambert’s bitching all on his own.

 

“It doesn't really,” Eskel says. “It just seems like most people don't make the effort nowadays. I just appreciate the craft.”

 

Lambert looks too flabbergasted to be angry. “The  _ craft _ ,” he says incredulously, after a minute. “Melitele’s tits.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, I have an idea,” Eskel says.

 

“Don't leave us in suspense then,” Lambert grumbles.

 

“ _ With no single soul _ ,” Eskel says. “Pretty specific. What about two souls?”

 

“That’s your idea? Two or two hundred, I don't think it's going to make much difference! I lost count of how many people I slept with on my way here.”

 

“I meant two at once, but if you've tried that we can rule it out and move onto something else.”

 

Lambert is speechless. “I haven't,” he says finally.

 

He's resolutely not looking at either of them, and Geralt can see how he's gone rigid.

 

Eskel looks like he's caught between rolling his eyes and outright laughter. Wisely, he abstains from both. He moves first, heading towards Geralt's room, and Lambert lasts only a second longer.

 

Geralt  _ does _ roll his eyes, following both of them and kicking the door shut behind them.

 

Lambert’s peeling his clothes off already, and it's clear that it frustrates him to no end to have his need so obvious, but it doesn't stop him from trying to tug Eskel toward the bed.

 

“Take it easy,” Eskel says, letting himself be moved.

 

“Take it easy,” Lambert mimics, patience thinning. “Easy for you to say.”

 

Eskel shuts him up with a kiss, though if anything it just seems to make Lambert even more impatient.

 

Geralt divests himself of his own clothing before going to distract Lambert so Eskel can get out of his armor.

 

Lambert bites at his mouth as Geralt eases him back onto the bed. He clings to Geralt like a limpet, one leg around him already, tugging their bodies closer together.

 

Armor off, Eskel approaches the bed, grabbing the half empty vial of oil from the bedside table.

 

Lambert doesn’t let up on his grip on Geralt, but he breaks their kiss to watch for Eskel’s next movements. His hips are still moving, like he’s not really aware of it, grinding his cock up against Geralt’s stomach.

 

Eskel positions himself on the bed with them, sitting at the headboard. Lambert goes willingly when Eskel reaches for him, clambering over Geralt and knocking him in the ribs with his knee.

 

Geralt would complain, but he’s pretty sure Lambert is too out of it to pay him much mind. Lambert is straddling Eskel’s lap, panting into his mouth. His hand is obviously between the two of them, and Geralt can guess what he’s doing.

 

“Come on, none of that,” Eskel says, stilling Lambert’s hand. “Turn around, we got you.”

 

Lambert huffs, but does as he’s told, turning so they’re both facing Geralt. 

 

Geralt takes the vial of oil from Eskel, uncorking it and pouring some of the it onto his fingers before placing the flask back onto the table.

 

He crowds into their space, kneeling between their legs. Eskel helpfully gets an arm under each of Lambert's knees, giving Geralt a good angle to work with.

 

Lambert is still pliant and wet from earlier, but Geralt makes sure to take his time, until he's got four fingers working him open and Lambert kicks at him.

 

“Sometime  _ today _ ,” Lambert demands.

 

It makes Geralt feel a little less sympathetic, so he drags his fingers away and lifts him up, holding him there while Eskel lines his cock up before letting him sink back down. Both Lambert and Eskel groan. Geralt rubs a finger over Lambert's rim, stretched tight around Eskel's cock.

 

He grabs more lube, watches Lambert's face closely as he eases in another finger with no idea how he's supposed to get his cock in there.

 

“Alright?” Geralt asks, and Lambert weakly tries to kick him again.

 

“I'm fine, you old,  _ oh _ , fuck.” He's got a hand around his own cock, but apparently doesn't have the wherewithal to stroke it. 

 

Geralt helps him out, getting his own hand around him too and jerking him slowly as he adds another finger.

 

Lamber's skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he's panting like he's just finished a race. He turns his head, tucking his face into Eskel's neck wordlessly.

 

Geralt reaches one handedly for the oil, spilling what's left over his cock, slicking himself up as he eases forward. Eskel helps lift Lambert up a little and, gently as he can, Geralt works his cock inch by inch into Lambert's shuddering body.

 

Lambert has one hand twisted in the bedsheets, the other in what must be a death grip on Eskel's hair. He's making a keening noise high in the back of his throat.

 

Geralt pauses, a little overwhelmed by the heat and the tightness. He can feel Eskel's cock trapped against his and it's so good it borders on painful. He can't even imagine what Lambert's feeling right now.

 

Lambert gets his breathing under some semblance of control and he opens his eyes. His cheeks are blotchy and his eyelashes are damp and if looks could kill Geralt would be dead on the spot.

 

“The fuck are you waiting for,” Lambert slurs, sounding nearly drunk.

 

Geralt huffs but starts moving, not really thrusting so much as a slow, steady grind.

 

Eskel starts moving too and Lambert clenches down on both of them, eyes rolling back as his mouth drops open.

 

He's shaking like he's been hit with lightning, no leverage to fuck himself back on their cocks, just having to lay between them and take what he's given.

 

Geralt has the feeling that none of them are going to last long as he and Eskel manage to get something of a rhythm going, Lambert tense between them. He’s not swearing at them any more, thankfully, words seemingly beyond him, but he’s  _ loud _ , and Geralt thinks he probably ought to have closed the windows.

 

He grips Lambert’s cock a little tighter, strokes him a little faster and Lambert goes silent, tensing up even further as he comes, cock jerking in Geralt’s hand. Geralt swears, hardly daring to move Lambert is so fucking tight.

 

Eskel doesn’t seem to have the same hesitancy, chasing his own release as he fucks up into Lambert. He’s got his face pressed into Lambert’s neck, groan stifled as he comes, too. It’s shockingly intimate, feeling the way Eskel’s cock flexes against his own and Geralt swears again. 

 

Everything is hot and slick, Lambert shaking from overstimulation. A little guiltily, Geralt chases his own orgasm, groaning long and low when it hits. Weakly, Lambert pushes at his shoulder and Geralt reluctantly pulls out. Eskel rolls both of them over onto their sides and pulls out, too.

 

“Did it work?” Eskel asks. 

 

“Guh,” Lambert manages, which isn't much of an answer.

 

Eskel’s eyebrows draw down in concern. Lambert hasn't moved from where he's collapsed on the sheets, panting like he's just run a marathon. He's got one hand over his eyes.

 

“Still with us?” Eskel prompts.

 

Lambert nods, but doesn't bother vocalizing an answer.

 

The bed isn't really big enough for the three of them, and Geralt can't lie down without being pressed up against Lambert's side, which he very apparently does not like. He shoves at Geralt with his free hand.

 

“Go be a oven someplace else,” he gripes, which Geralt takes to mean he's okay.

 

“Feel any different?” Eskel asks.

 

Lambert lets his hand drop from his face and he stares up at the ceiling. 

 

“I don't know that I'd say different. I’ll probably know in a few hours.”

 

“Alright,” Eskel says. “Now who do I have to fuck to get a bath around here?”

 

Geralt rolls his eyes, but hauls himself up out of bed. A bath is definitely in order.

 

\--

 

Geralt is showing Eskel around the vineyard later that day when Lambert finds them.

 

He’s been forgoing armor since he arrived, for easy access when the urge hit him, but he's fully dressed now, swords strapped on his back.

 

He even looks to be in high spirits.

 

“Got some good news then?” Geralt asks.

 

Lambert actually smiles, looking as happy as Geralt’s ever seen him. “Eskel, you magnificent bastard. Yes, I'm cured.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Eskel says.

 

“You know you can still stay,” Geralt starts, but Lambert waves him off.

 

“Don't take it personally. I just-- some space would be nice, right now. Thought I'd ride into Beauclair, pick up a contract or two and enjoy a few days of not being desperate for a shag. Ought to be back by Midinvaerne, at least.”

 

“Sounds good, glad to see you're back to normal.”

 

“No one's happier than I am,” Lambert says with feeling.

 

Geralt and Eskel see him off, watching until Lambert isn’t much more than a speck on the horizon.

 

“Crisis averted, looks like,” Eskel says.

 

“Finally some goddamn peace and quiet,” Geralt agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little shorter :v
> 
> I decided to split the second chapter into two parts.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this fic for about a year now and I finally decided to finish and post it. Next and final chapter is almost done and should be posted shortly.
> 
> Please tell me nice things <3


End file.
